


Between the Nightmares

by Madame_Tentacle



Series: End of the Tunnel [2]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, One Shot, One Shot Collection, fluff shenanigans, maybe sappy sometimes, this is going to be the dump zone for comedy and fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:22:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Madame_Tentacle/pseuds/Madame_Tentacle
Summary: A collection of light-hearted one shots, taking place in the same canon as "The Man in the Monster".  Mostly centering around the friendship between Miles and Waylon as they enjoy the good times between the hardships caused by Murkoff and the Mount Massive riots.  Lisa and the kids will be making frequent appearances :)





	1. Pancakes

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a headcanon from gayjournalism.tumblr from this list https://gayjournalism.tumblr.com/post/159257134055/some-various-mileswayloncamerashipping

Lisa walked into the dining room to find Miles digging into his fifth pancake. He took bites that were too big and too fast.

Her sons: Daniel and T.J. sat on either side of Miles and watched the display like one of their Saturday Morning cartoons.

Meanwhile, Waylon kept vigil at the stove, where he flipped the next pancake.

“Now what on earth is going on in here,” Lisa asked.

“Uncle Miles said he was going to do something really cool,” Daniel replied.

“Is he now?” Lisa glanced at what little was left of the pancake. “By eating pancakes?”

“It’s really wild,” Miles said through a full mouth. “I did it at ihop once and it was the craziest thing I’d ever seen!”

“Crazier than the chupacabra?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe!”

“Alright, I’ll bite.” Lisa took the seat across from Miles. “Let’s see where you’re going with this.”

Miles swallowed the last of the pancake and held up the empty plate. “Hey, Waylon! I need another round!”

“Coming right up!” Waylon hurried to the table with another three pancakes for Miles, then made a quick return to the stove.

“Thanks, pal!”

Within minutes, Miles scarfed down the new stack. He opened his mouth to call for another serving, when his stomach growled. “Okay, Waylon, that’s enough!” Miles held up a hand to stop the wave of flapjacks. “I think it’s going to happen now!”

The boys leaned forward, eyes fixed on Miles. Waylon abandoned his post for the main event, and even Lisa raised an eyebrow as she waited.

For about a minute, Miles was still. He said nothing, but the growls in his stomach echoed through the kitchen. After the minute, he hunched over his place mat. He hacked and heaved a few times, until he vomit out an excess of black tar that piled onto the plate-steaming and smelling like a freshly paved road.

“Ta-dah!” Miles grinned from ear to ear at his creation. Dark spittle cling to the corners of his mouth, and his voice was winded and breathy, as if he just ran a marathon.

When Daniel and T.J. stared in horrified silence, Waylon turned to go back into the kitchen. Only Lisa’s horrified, “Oh my God,” broke the silence.

“Oh, come on! You gotta admit that’s crazy!”

Little T.J. poked at the tar with a fork. “What is it?”

“Hell if I know! But cool, isn’t it?”

T.J. frowned. “I think it’s weird…”

“Really? Does nothing impress you people?”

“I’ll admit I’m wondering what else I was expecting…” Lisa said, unable to tear her eyes away from the now ruined plate.

“Why is it steaming?” Daniel asked.

“I’m not completely sure, but I have a theory and-”

Before Miles could launch into a biology lesson, Waylon reappeared with a glass of water. “Here.”

“Oh, thanks, pal!”

As Miles down the water, Waylon’s brow furrowed in concern and he rubbed Miles’ back. “Maybe next time you shouldn’t eat so fast, okay?”

“Aw, but that’s the only way for it to work!”

Waylon sighed heavily. “That can’t be good for you…”

“Says you,” Miles grumbled, as he clenched his stomach.


	2. Jump

“But Mom, I know how to swim just fine!” Daniel whined. “What do I need the lifejacket for?”

“Because it’s the law,” Lisa answered, as she tightened the straps of the vest. “When you’re a little bigger you could swim without one, but for now you have to wear it or you’ll get in trouble with the patrolman.”

“And lakes are a lot bigger than pools,” Waylon chimed in. He had just finished slathering T.J. in sunscreen and now went to put a visor hat on Daniel. “They have currents that make swimming harder. Also, the lifejacket will keep you afloat and when you get tired you could just sit in the water instead of come back on the boat. Cool, isn’t it?”

Daniel pouted. “But couldn’t they make it more comfortable?”

“It’s safe and that’s what counts,” Waylon said.

“Can we go swimming yet?” T.J. asked before Daniel could argue any further.

“In a moment,” Lisa retied the drawstrings of the little one’s hat. “And have you boys had a drink in the last hour? You have to be hydrated before playing.”

“Moooom!”

“I’ll get the water bottles!” Waylon started for the ice chest that marked their little spot on the beach, when he ran into the one who dragged them there in the first place. “There you are, Miles. Where were you? We could have really used your help setting up.”

“But then who would scout ahead?” Miles challenged.

“Oh? Did you find something?” Waylon dug through the ice for the waters.

“C’mon, I’ll show you!” Miles snatched one of the drinks from Waylon’s hand and gulped half of it down. “Good thinking, I was parched. Now let’s get going.”

“But...the boys…”

“We can show them when Lisa’s done smothering them. Now come on!”

Before Waylon could protest, Miles was dragging him along jagged rocks and climbing the smoother ones. Though there was a trace of a path where Miles led them, Waylon still often lagged behind on account of his too flimsy flip flops.

Miles always waited for him to catch up until they were atop a flat cliff that jutted out to the water.

“Cool, isn’t it?”

Waylon smiled as the cool breeze tickled his skin. He looked down at the water crashing against the rocks. Next he spotted the rented boat and his family below. The boys wading in the water and Lisa lounging on a towel, enjoying the sun.

Waylon called out to them and waved.

Lisa blew him a kiss while the kids yelled to be heard.

“How did you get up there?”

“Can we come up?”

“We wanna see!”

“We’ll come down and get you!” Waylon shouted to them. He then turned to Miles. “Shall we go back down?”

“Yeah! Ready to jump?”

“What!?”

“It’s not that high!” Miles grinned as he stepped to the edge. “And it’d be a crime not to take a dip on such a nice day.”

“Well, yeah, but...maybe we could climb down first?”

“C’mon, Park! Live a little!”

Waylon took a few steps to join Miles on the edge. It was true that it wasn’t so high. Only just enough to be a thrill, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the rocks below.

“You just gotta get a running start and it’ll be more than enough to miss those rocks,” Miles said when he followed Waylon’s gaze.

“I don’t know…”

“We’ll do it together.”

Miles’ smile was so bright and confident that Waylon said, “Alright, let’s do it.”

The pair stepped back and prepared themselves.

“Ready, Park?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s go!”

Miles broke into a sprint, but Waylon easily caught up. He soon surpassed Miles and launched himself from the cliff. He looked down and as Miles promised, the running start provided more than enough distance from the rocks. When he landed in the water, he was surprised how far down he went, but when he resurfaced, he grinned from ear to ear, even through the water that went up his nose.

The first thing he saw were his boys cheering him on, but it was Lisa’s loud whistle for his stunt that made him smile with pride, but he then realized there was no sign of Miles. 

Only when he heard laughter from above did Waylon find him. He looked up and there was Miles at the edge of the cliff laughing up a storm.

“Way to go, Park!” His cheers were the loudest of them all. “You didn’t need me after all!”

“You jerk!” Still, Waylon’s smile remained. “Don’t tell me you’re too scared to take on your own challenge!”

“Oh, you’re on!” Miles hurried back before making his run from the cliff and propelling himself off. He tucked into a cannon ball and the splash was big enough to make waves in the water. Moments later, he resurfaced.

“Still think I’m chicken-shit!?” 

They were both laughing now.

“Alright, we’re even!”

They made their swim back to shore and the kids flocked to them like adoring fans, pleading to come along for the second jump.

“Well I don’t see why not!” Miles said to that, scooping up T.J. and setting him on his shoulders.

Waylon took Daniel’s hand first, then used his free hand to help Lisa up from the blanket. “You’re coming too, honey!”

“Oh, okay!” Despite her initial surprised, Lisa was glad to follow the group to the cliff.

Their jump as a family was just the first of many that summer afternoon.


	3. Fort

Where there should have been a living room was a sea of sheets and ratty blankets. Most of them were propped up by chairs dragged from the dining room, while safety pins in the wall took care of the rest, but Waylon only saw a huge mess to clean up after everyone else retired for bed.

He buried his face in his hands and groaned at the sight, before reaching for a quilt to start when he heard a voice from inside.

“Hey! I’m not done in here yet!”

Waylon flinched, dropping the blanket. “Miles?”

“No, it’s Auntie Marge. Who do you think it is?!”

Following the source of the voice, Waylon found a soft glow and humming from underneath the largest of the sheets, right where the TV usually sat. Waylon crouched down so he could crawl through the entrance and there sat Miles. He plopped himself on the floor, cross legged, glued to the 10 o’clock news, his eyes flickering like static and a bowl of popcorn on his lap.

“Popcorn?” Miles offered. He held out the bowl for Waylon without looking at him.

“Sure…” Waylon took a handful, then sat beside Miles, catching the tail end of the latest accident report on the highway before asking, “What are you doing in here?”

Miles shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought this fort was cool.”

“It’s going to take forever to clean up.”

“Yeah, those boys of yours sure went all out for this.” Miles tore away from the news for a moment to look up at the fabric roof. “Smart move expanding the territory to the TV.”

“I think you taught them that,” Waylon remarked over another handful of popcorn.

“Then I taught them well!” Miles flashed a bright smile, kernel shells between the teeth, but Waylon only narrowed his eyes.

“You could also teach them to clean up after themselves when they’re done playing,” he said flatly, but Miles maintained his grin.

“And let them have all the fun in here? I don’t think so!”

This time, Waylon managed to smile back. “I think I just fail to see the fun in watching all the bad news in the world.”

“Better than all the other bullshit on at this hour.” Miles offered up the remote to Waylon. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“I do,” but rather than take the remote, Waylon reached for the wiimotes beneath the TV. He untangled the cords and held one out to Miles. “Wanna do a quick race on Mario Kart?” he suggested.

"You’re on!” Miles snatched the wiimote. “One round: all or nothing, loser cleans up!”

“W-what!?” Waylon shook his head, trying to comprehend Miles’ offer. “This doesn’t have to be a competition!”

“No, it doesn’t, but…” His eyes flickered. “Makes it more interesting, doesn’t it?”

“Only if you don’t cheat,” Waylon scolded.

Miles threw his head back and groaned. “The Walrider scrambles the TV one time and you never let me live it down!”

“Remember: I know how to spot the glitches now, so you better play fair.”

“Well, I’m not gonna need glitches when me and Bowser kick you ass!”

“We’ll see about that.” Waylon grinned from ear to ear as he started up the wii and skipped through the menu cutscene. The pair then selected their characters of Bowser and Luigi in record time, but the track selection stopped them for a debate.

“So which track we tackling?” Miles finally asked.

"I don’t care. As long as it’s not Rainbow Road.”

As Waylon spoke, Miles pointed the cursor and selected Rainbow Road.

“Miles…”

“What!? You don’t expect me not to exploit your weakness, do you?”

“It’s not that. It’s…” Waylon trailed off long enough to see the countdown to the end and propel from the starting line.

Miles sped ahead of Waylon and the AI drivers, making great distance between them. Smirking, he glanced at Waylon, but that smirk faded when his kart flew off the track.

“What the!?”

“It’s that you’re as bad at this track as I am,” Waylon chuckled. Nonetheless, he maneuvered well enough to steal Miles’ position in first.

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that!”

When placed back on the track, Miles snagged a power up, and made his way close enough to throw a shell at Waylon’s cart and reclaim his leading spot.

“Ha!” Miles proceeded to fall at the next turn. “Fuck!”

The two recovered at the same time. They continued the race, switching between 7th and 8th place, as Waylon instructed Miles how to steer through the track. “See, Miles? It’s not all about speed. Focus more on maintaining direction. Even if you need to use the brakes, you can make up the distance after the turn, and-” Waylon cut off when he slipped on one of the AI’s banana peels, and Miles sped past for another shot of glory. He missed the next turn.

“You have got to be kidding me!”

The flying turtles placed the karts on the track simultaneously, but they missed the next turn together. All they could do was laugh. Every failed turn, every banana peel slipped on, and even the blue shells that knocked them off the track had them roaring, even long after their chance to redeem themselves.

In the end, Waylon landed in seventh place and Miles in eighth. Still, they laughed.

“I guess you win!” Miles surrendered the wiimote so he could wipe away the tears from the corners of his eyes.

“I wouldn’t call that ‘winning’!” Waylon gasped for a breath between the final fits of giggles.

“Hey! Ya sure did better than me!” Miles leaned back and sighed contentedly for only a moment before scooting to the exit. “I’ll get to work on clean-up duty.”

“Wait!” Waylon followed Miles out of the fort. “Let me help you.”

“Nah it’s fine,” Miles waved it off. “You won the bet, and this’ll help me earn my keep.”

“It’s fine.” Waylon grabbed the closest of the blankets, tugging on it to to unveil the dining room chairs. He held one corner and handed the other to Miles. “These are too big for one person to fold anyways.”

“Oh, alright.” Miles rolled his eyes, but accepted the help nonetheless.

Together, they made quick work of the clean-up operation. The laughter that resurfaced throughout made it all the faster.


	4. Static

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was planned to be a birthday one shot for my dear friend and favorite puffin: Reno, but it ended up too short to be a proper one shot and it's only a blurb. Nonetheless, this one is inspired by and dedicated to Reno <3

Miles’ eyes flickered along with the static on the television and he delved deeper and deeper inside. The dead air belonged in that cage of a screen, but somehow it leaked out with every passing moment. It surrounded him, scratched at his ears, printed its image on the back of his eyelids, and took over the room. First it swallowed the couch he sat on. Then, particles floated up to the ceiling, covered the wallpaper, trapping him like a too small kennel. Only when the floor went out from underneath him could he hear a voice he understood.

“Miles!”

The specks drifted down from the ceiling, receded from the floor, like wave receding from the shore. The ringing in his ears faded away, and with a few blinks to rid himself of the last of the grainy flecks, he was able to see Waylon standing in front of him. “Oh...heya pal,” He took a moment to yawn. “How long you been standing there?”

Waylon glanced at the digital clock on the cable box right in time to see it change to 12 PM and sighed. “How long have you been watching dead air?” He asked as he joined Miles’ side on the sofa.

“Who wants to know?” Miles leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Miles…”

“Hey, it’s not like I was doing it on purpose. I was just watching the news, minding my own business and bam! Dead air on every channel.”

“The cable box must have glitched out. We had a storm last night. It’s probably just messing with the picture.”

“I know, but…” Miles brow furrowed.

“But what?”

“I’m still hearing shit in there, still seeing things. I know it’s all bullshit but it goes so deep that it rattles in my bones. Like a million tiny claws scratching from the inside. That voice is still in the static and it’s screaming at me, every fiber of me wants...no needs to know what it’s trying to tell me, but I just can’t understand it-no matter how long I sit there and listen.”

Waylon took the remote from the coffee table. His finger hovered over the power button, but something caught his eye in the static. A face looked back at him. It hadn’t any eyes, but it stared straight through him, shifting and morphing, beckoning him to follow into that dead air. When he could feel the pain in his wrists where his restraints once were, Waylon pressed the button to shut the TV off, and took a deep breath. “Maybe we don’t need to understand everything.”

Miles sighed heavily. He slumped against Waylon, resting his head on his shoulder.

Waylon shivered from the contact, as he always did. No matter the time or season, Miles froze like the dead--as if he were left in a morgue too long to ever thaw out properly. Nonetheless, Waylon adjusted himself so he could wrap an arm around Miles’ shoulders.

Only their breathing overcame the silence. Sometimes in perfect sync, other times staggered and out of order, but constant, even as Miles’ own breathing slowed altogether.

As Miles drifted to sleep, Waylon stifled a chuckle. His side had gone numb from Miles’ weight.


	5. Trespassing

“Nobody knows the trouble I’ve seen. Nobody knows my sorrow…”

Miles’ pitiful attempt at a crooning bass voice echoed off the walls of the dingy holding cell. Without an old harmonica to accompany his tune, the song hardly did justice to Miles’ despair at his Saturday night stage. Somewhere in his melancholy tune, an officer asked if he was here all week, which only made Miles sing louder. He’d have given an encore performance, if not for the eventual sound of the gate opening. He shot up from the uncomfortable bench he laid on as he sang, and cocked an eyebrow at the officer who unlocked his cell. “What’s the verdict, officer?” 

“Someone’s paid your bail. You’re free to go.”

He craned his neck to look past the officer to see Waylon down the hall. At first, he smiled, but it faded when Waylon responded with a glare. Miles dragged his feet down the hall to meet Waylon, only looking up when they were face to face. “Heh….hiya,” he said, with a sheepish smile.

“Come on,” was all Waylon said, before he turned to leave.

Head hung low, Miles followed. He hopped into the passenger seat, waiting for the car to start. When the silence continued after the engine purred, Miles reached for the radio dial, but Waylon spoke up before he laid hands on it.

“Really? Trespassing again?” he asked, flatly.

“Hey! It wasn’t my fault this time! The Walrider was being really antsy and took over. Before I know it, they’re taking my mugshot! Just be glad I was able to keep it under control before anyone got hurt.”

Without either of them touching it, the once silent radio screeched loudly, before fading into muffled static, which made Miles groan. “Oh, calm down, will you!”

Despite flinching at the noise, Waylon maintained his even tone. “Apparently the Walrider doesn’t appreciate you using it as your scapegoat for the third time this year.” He reached over to tune the radio to the easy listening station. 

Any other day, Miles would voice a fit over the music choice. If he didn’t complain aloud, he would send the Walrider into the radio to tune into the classic rock station. Today, Miles did neither. He crossed his arms, and leaned against the window, staring out. The property he invaded brought him to the middle of nowhere and made for a boring view, but his gaze remained on it, rather than turn to Waylon. If he did, he would have seen Waylon’s expression soften.

“Now Miles…”

"Oh, don’t ‘now Miles’ me!” he huffed. “You always say that before you lecture me like I’m one of your kids.”

Waylon’s expression morphed into a soft, but knowing smile. “Well, I did tell you this would happen if you went after that story.”

"But how could I not chase this one!? I tell you, buried on that land is proof that the Jersey Devil did exist! I was going to go down in history as the man who brought it out to the public!” His mania faded into a sigh, as he narrowed his eyes at the empty expanse outside. “I just didn’t think that old hermit would be such a good shot.”

“He didn’t hit you, did he?” Waylon’s brow furrowed in concern.

Miles laughed. “Now you’re just bullying me! You really think I’m that slow?”

“Well...I knew the Walrider would keep you safe, but…” Waylon bit his lip.

“You weren’t so sure about me,” Miles finished for him. His tone hardened. “Glad to know you got such faith in me.”

“Don’t be like that, Miles...”

Finally, Miles tore his eyes from the window to look at Waylon. 

Though his eyes were concentrated on the road, his eyes were clouded with worry, and the bags underneath them darker than usual. 

Miles sighed heavily. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. I just forget that there’s someone out there worrying about me nowadays.”

“Is it really that easy to forget?” Waylon asked, in a lilting voice.

“What can I say? I’ve been a lone wolf for a long time now. This whole thing of someone actually paying my bail is new to me.” He offered a chuckle to lighten the mood, which Waylon mimicked, but not with enough sincerity for Miles to accept.

Miles looked back out the window to see the view not near as empty as it was last time he checked. They now drove through a town so small that it was little more than a glorified truck stop. Rival gas stations were paired with fast food franchises. An old Motel 6 served as the crown jewel, but it was a single neon sign that caught Miles’ attention. It was still too light out to be lit, but he could see that it read “burgers” and was paired with an arrow that pointed to a wooden building that was little more than a shack. He leaned over so he could nudge Waylon. “Hey, take the next left coming up!”

Waylon’s eyes followed the sign and he shook his head. “If you need to use the bathroom, I’ll stop at the next gas station here.”

"No, stop here!”

“What? Miles-”

“I’m hungry. Let’s get burgers!”

"But why there? A place like that can’t have seen a health inspector in a decade.”

“That’s why it’ll be the best lunch you ever had.”

“How do you know that?”

“C’mon, I owe you one for busting me out. Let me buy ya lunch.”

“If you insist.” Though he frowned, Waylon flipped his blinker and followed the dingy sign to a dirt parking lot. He parked beside a dusty, rusted pickup truck--one of the only two in the lot. 

While Waylon swallowed a lump in his throat, Miles barreled out of the car, smiling brightly. Once Waylon stepped foot out of the car, he motioned for him to follow before trotting ahead and barging into the sorry excuse of a burger establishment.

There were only three, grimy tables, surrounded by mismatching chairs. Everything else was standing room only. Plastered on the walls were license plates from all 50 states and scribbled on dollar bills. The only living soul amongst it all was a burly man at the counter, too enthralled with his Maxim magazine to notice the customers until Miles cleared his throat.

“Afternoon,” he grunted, without looking up from the spread. “What can I get ya?”

"Hmm…” Miles stared up at the overhead menu, looking back and forth between the Chilli Burger and Everything on it Burger. “You go first, pal.” he said to Waylon.

“Uh...a regular cheeseburger and a pepsi?”

The man looked up so he could roll his eyes, before moving onto Miles. “And for you?”

Miles slammed his hand on the table at his decision. “I’m taking a chance on the chilliburger! And a budweiser to wash it down.”

“Heh, I like your style.” He smiled at first, then raised an eyebrow at Miles’ incomplete hand. He would have said something else if Miles hadn’t already held out the money for him, which the man took with nothing more than a shrug. “Sit wherever ya want,” he grumbled before shouting something over his shoulder to an unseen cook.

“So why this place?” Waylon asked, when they settled into the chairs with the least amount of unidentified stains.

“I dunno.” Miles leaned back so he could kick his feet up on the table. “The sign said ‘burgers’ and that just sounded really good right now.”

“But why these burgers?” Waylon challenged. He wasn’t harsh in his tone, merely inquiring. “If we drove just a little further, we could have gone to Burger King.”

“We could have, but I like places like this.” Miles smiled, scanning the wall, as if trying to read the defaced dollar bills. “They’re quiet and entertaining at the same time, so unlike everything out there that it never feels quite real. There’s something nice about that.”

“It feels like the world is still loading,” Waylon observed.

"That’s it!” Miles attempted to snap his fingers, but without all his fingers, it was a silent motion. “Man, where do you come up with this stuff?”

“Staring at too many buffering screens in my line of work,” Waylon replied, actually smiling at recalling the daily annoyance.

“You don’t find them frustrating?” Miles asked of his smile.

Waylon shrugged. “Sometimes they are, but other times, I’m happy for them. It’s nice to have that little break and stop thinking for just a moment.”

“That’s exactly how I feel about spots like this.” Miles sighed contentedly. “Can’t get that feeling in some crowded fast food joint. In a shithole like this, it’s like our personal hiding place from it all, if just for a little bit.” Miles’ voice softened, which cued an equally soft smile from Waylon.

“Never thought of it that way,” He trailed off into silence for a time, as his eyes wandered to the license plates that lined the walls. “You been to all these states?”

“I been to enough of them,” Miles replied curtly.

“How many is ‘enough’?”

“Let’s just say I’ll hit up Hawaii when they come out with the technology make my jeep float.”

Waylon chuckled. “How do they even get license plates from Hawaii?”

“I have a theory people just buy them online for bragging rights or something. I mean, who in their right mind would leave an island paradise if they lived there?”

“You, probably.” 

They shared a chuckle at Miles expense, which cued the worker to arrive with the food. “Here ya go,” he grunted. He plopped the burgers in front of them, before walking off to return to his reading. Three paper plates were needed for each burger to accommodate for the grease and excessive toppings. Otherwise, they would have soaked right throughand onto the already filthy tables. Even with the precautions taken, it took some effort to peel the burgers off of the plates, and the grease drenched the buns that were nearly flattened due to the grease.

The calorie count did not deter Miles, who snatched his lunch and chomped right into it. “Mmm, now that’s the good stuff!” He grinned even as the chilli slid off and plopped onto the paper plates. “How’s yours?”

Waylon grimaced as he looked down at his. “Uh...I was going to see if they had any napkins to wipe some of the grease off.”

Miles waved a hand in dismissal. “Nah, just eat it like that! The grease adds flavor!”

At first, Waylon opened his mouth to protest, but his stomach spoke up with a growl for him. “Alright, I’ll give it a try.” He lifted the burger which was heavy thanks to too much cheese and overly thick patties. After taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and bit into the monstrosity.

“So what do you think?” Miles asked when Waylon swallowed.

The cheese stuck to his teeth and he could already feel the grease lining his stomach. Still, he replied with, “This is the best burger I’ve ever had,” and took another bite.


End file.
